Disclaimers: None of it is mine. Ain't nobody got time for that.
A Natural Affinity
Her arms ached.
Not in the literal, physical sense.
In the metaphorical sense.
A dull, steady yearning.
It was almost as if she could feel the space between her arms collapsing back in on itself – like a vacuum had swiftly and coldly left her behind, completely devoid of life.
Every once in awhile, she catches herself staring down at her outstretched and upturned arms with a mélange of tenderness, bewilderment and despair.
Is this what having a phantom limb is like?
When she closed her eyes, she could feel it again.
The warmth, radiating. In her hands, along inside of her forearms. In the crook of her elbows, along the inside of her upper arms. In the cradle of her hips, and all throughout her abdomen and chest.
She could feel the fabric, gently rustling beneath her fingertips and brushing along her inner arm.
She could feel the swell of every curve, pressed against her front as she pulled those curves tighter, closer to herself, melding them into her own body.
Her arms twitched.
Her chest was tight with longing.
Fuck me.
She rolled over to gaze (unhelpfully) at Maura's sleeping form, and allowed herself to indulge in the memory that had been haunting her for weeks.
...
She's uncomfortable.
Her smile is forced.
Your horrification over what Giovanni has done to your mother's car is thrown to the backburner. Your primary concern immediately goes to figuring out why she's got that imposter of a smile on her beautiful face. And then fixing it.
It pains you, when she forces smiles like that. Because you've seen the brilliance of her real smiles. The smiles that make the sun look like a cheap excuse for radiance. The smiles that when you put them on her face, make you feel like you won the lottery a thousand times over. You'll shoot something, if you have to, to put a real smile on her face.
But now that fake smile is the least of your worries, because her breathing is more labored and her words aren't flowing with the ease that they normally do.
"I think that…I think that…" She's looking at you. Doing that thing she does where she wills you to read her mind. "We should just tell him. Don't you?"
Tell him what? Tell him that he managed to turn a perfectly respectable car into something that anyone with 2.5 brain cells would be embarrassed to drive? That it now looks almost as ridiculous as the idea of him and Maura being together?
Her voice pitches just a little bit higher.
"…Babe?"
Ohh-kay…so she means like…
You've done this a couple times with your girl friends when you were much younger, to ward off unwanted suitors. You're not sure what exactly Maura is expecting of you…so you do what you do best. You go with your gut. You run with past experience and do what comes, more or less, naturally.
And your gut tells you that you need to communicate with Giovanni on more of a Neanderthal level.
Maura mine.
Jane good.
Giovanni bad.
"Yes..."
In a few quick strides, you're right behind her, slipping your arms around her waist and pulling her close.
"Yes I do." You pull her even closer. "Babe."
It was a little contrived, yes. But the way your arms found a home around her waist? Nothing about that was forced. And the way she settled into your arms was just…too…easy.
Initially, you thought communicating like a Neanderthal was for Giovanni's dimwitted benefit.
But now that she's in your arms, you're finding that a whole new beast within you is stirring to life.
"Tell him." The two words come out of your mouth with a bite to them. Venomous, almost.
And then Maura intertwines her fingers with yours, and you're slowly swaying back and forth.
Maura is spewing something incomprehensible. You're focused on the fact that you can feel the vibrations from her voice reverberating through your chest as she babbles on and on, listing what seems like half the alphabet in an attempt to describe your relationship to Giovanni.
You're vaguely aware of the fact that she's floundering here.
The woman may not be able to lie, but she is a master at bending the truth.
So why was she struggling so much to articulate anything to mislead him?
And you're wondering if maybe she's as pleasantly distracted by this newfound closeness as you are.
And then you're joining in on the babbling, and you have no idea what you're doing to help the cause, but you must be doing something right because Maura is nodding along.
And if you're not mistaken, she's pretty damned smug about it.
And then he finally gets it, and you're nodding too.
And it's definitely smug.
You wink at him, because you've won.
And you're swaying again, and she's moving with you like she's always been a part of you.
...
She heaved a sigh into the pillow as she recalled the last bit of the encounter.
How Giovanni thought they were soul mates, until he found out that Maura had an 'LLBFF'.
Maura had asked him if he really thought they had had a deep, natural affinity for each other.
A deep, natural affinity.
Soul mates.
Two parts of a whole.
She doesn't believe in soul mates. As far as she can tell, you can learn to love someone and be happy with them, so long as you try. Relationships are work. Romance takes effort. Nothing is a fairytale. And as far as she was concerned, that's exactly what soul mates were. A fairytale.
At least, that's what she thought until Maura had attached those four little words to the term.
A deep, natural affinity is exactly what she has with Maura. It's just that she had never thought about it in this context before that day at the garage.
Their first meeting certainly wasn't ideal, nor was it indicative of the relationship they would grow to have.
But she couldn't deny it. Not now.
They fit together.
On the surface, they were complete opposites. But at their core, they were the same.
They were complementary parts, and together, they made a whole.
She still didn't want to put the 'soul mate' label on their relationship, though. On principle.
That, and the fact that 'soul mate' generally has a romantic connotation. And we clearly are not in a romantic relationship.
Even though you might like to be.
She snorted.
Might. Yeah right. And the Pope might be Catholic.
She glanced back over at Maura's sleeping form.
The dip in her waist taunts her.
She sighed as her fingertips twitched with the repressed urge (no, desire – need?) to trace the shape of those curves. She was so close. All she had to do was raise her hand up and stretch out the four, maybe five inches it would take to reach her. Her hand twitched – jumped, really – two inches closer.
She slapped those twitching fingertips over her own eyes, rolled away and groaned. No, she couldn't (wouldn't) be the cretin that sneaked a feel of her poor, unsuspecting best friend as she slept peacefully.
She rolls onto her stomach, firmly trapping her hands beneath her chest and burying her face in the pillow. The Maura-scented pillow.
She groans.
She cracks an eye open to peer at her bedmate once more.
The soft curve from her shoulder, the dip in her waist and the more dramatic curve to her hip.
Today, Maura had worn a pencil skirt and a lovely, silky something that covered her upper body.
She loves, loves, when Maura wears pencil skirts. Her heart skips a beat (or twelve) every time the lines of her perfect silhouette are accentuated in those fitted skirts.
She frequently found herself sitting on her hands in an attempt to restrain herself from reaching out and slowly running her hands along the dips and curves. To keep her hands and arms from slipping around that slim waist and tugging whatever pretty top Maura had on out of the skirt and letting her fingertips find purchase on what she was sure would be the softest skin. Ever.
She wanted to map those curves with her lips; gently sinking her teeth into the dip of her waist.
That was weird. Since when do I want to bite Maura?
Since you started fantasizing about taking her fancy clothes off, while she sleeps next to you, blissfully unaware of what a creep you are. You creep.
But she doesn't just want to do that.
She wants to curl her body around the smaller woman's frame.
She wants to fill and complete the dips and curves of Maura's body with her own.
She wants to wrap her up in her arms, hold her close and complete the puzzle pieces of their bodies.
She wants to hold her so close that its impossible to tell where one body ends and the other begins and they just sort of…melt into each other.
She wants to sweep those sleep mussed curls to the side and place a soft kiss on to that sweet spot just below her ear.
How was she supposed to keep functioning, now that she knew what it felt like to hold her and feel…whole?
How had she even lasted this long?
Her arms ache. Her heart longs. Her soul yearns.
It feels like every inch of her body, every fiber of her being is crying out for Maura.
She turns onto her side, aligning herself with the smaller woman in an attempt to quell her inner turmoil.
It's not helping.
Another frustrated sigh. They went to bed nearly four hours ago and she has yet to sleep a wink. In two minutes, she's going to start pulling her hair out.
"Jane, whatever it is that's keeping you from sleeping, get it off your chest. You shake the whole bed every time you roll over. It's disrupting my sleep pattern."
Oh, shit.
She felt her face contort into wide-eyed shock. She blanched, irrationally fearing that Maura had overheard her thoughts.
"I – uh, sorry. I'll just go to the guest room." She reached up to push the covers back when she felt Maura's hand slip into her own.
Her hand was so small. Warm and smooth. Delicate, but strong. Comforting.
"Don't go." She tugged on Jane's fingers. "Stay. Tell me what's on your mind."
"Nothing, really. Just can't seem to relax." She gave Maura's hand a gentle squeeze. "Go back to sleep."
"Come here." Maura tugs on her hand again. Bringing her closer. Pulling on Jane's arm a little more forcefully, Maura wraps it around her waist.
Oh, no.
"Wh – " Before she can even ask Maura what in the name of God she's doing, she's cut off by progressively sleepy mumbles.
"Oxytocin. Reduces blood pressure, stress and anxiety. Cuddling releases oxytocin." She slowly wiggles backwards, pressing herself seamlessly into the lanky woman behind her. "Relax, Jane."
Well, Jane Rizzoli was no fool. This was exactly what she'd wanted – no, needed – and Maura had given her explicit permission.
So she let herself melt into Maura.
Oh, god. This is good.
Because her arms were full and warm and happy and the void in her life and heart was gloriously filled.
She couldn't suppress the hum of approval as she fully relaxed into the embrace, nuzzling the silky hair at the base of Maura's neck.
"Better?" Maura asks, as sleep starts to pull them both under.
Perfect.
"Perfect." She mumbles into the smooth skin beneath her lips. She feels Maura hum against her as she tries to pull Jane impossibly closer. Without thinking, she places a soft kiss to the sweet skin there.
Yes. It was definitely perfect.